


Dear Andy

by BIGL0UD



Category: Original Work
Genre: andy's DEAD, dr. ashworth is a COOOOOOOOOL doctor, mom is worried, spencer is andy's younger brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 21:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12093723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BIGL0UD/pseuds/BIGL0UD
Summary: After his older brother and idol, Andy, dies is a car accident, Spencer must learn to cope with the gaping hole in his life. He begins his grieving process by writing in his journal, the last gift given to him by his brother. He writes letters, addressed to his brother.





	1. How shall I start?: After the Accident

**Author's Note:**

> oh boy, i'm only posting this because i found it in my files.   
> be gentle, i wrote this at 13 years old and it hasn't been edited at all.

"Spencer, wake up!" My mom shakes me awake, attempting a smile.  
"Mom, I'm not going to school." She shakes her head and prods me. "I'm not taking you to school. Now get up. I'm not fighting with you, young man." She purses her lips and stares at me. With a deep sigh, I get up. "Happy?" She nods.   
I roll my eyes at her as she leaves the room. I look around, wincing when I look out the window. It's way too bright in here. I cross the room and close my blinds. Then, to please mom, I pull on some new jeans and a random t-shirt advertising a band I don’t even like. I yank open my door and stomp downstairs. I don't want to be up this early, and I intend to make sure mom knows that.

She looks up when she sees me, and the smile fades off of her face. I staand in the doorway for a moment, feeling utterly ridiculous. Finally, I can’t take it. “What?” I snap. She shakes her head. “Nothing, you just…” She stops and looks away, blinking rapidly, as if she’s going to cry. “You look so much like him..”   
Andy. She thinks I look like Andy. Any other time, this would be the greatest compliment she could give me. Now, it just upsets the both of us. Why? Six months ago, Andy died in an car accident. He was driving home from a party, and a drunk driver crashed into his car. The doctor told us that he’d most likely died instantly. I didn’t know what that meant, but mom says that means he didn’t feel any pain.   
“Mom…” I trail off, not sure what to say. She shakes her head.   
“No, Spencer… Don’t say anything.” I try again.  
“But-” She cuts me off, telling me to get in the car. I shrug helplessly and grab my iPod and headphones before heading out to the car. Halfway there, I realize I’m only wearing socks. I run back inside and shove my feet into a pair of shoes. I go out to the car and get in. I plug my headphones into my iPod and wait for mom to come out.

She gets in the car and slams the door closed. I look away, noticing her red eyes. I hate that it’s because of me she’s crying.   
“Where are we going?” I already know where we’re going. It’s pretty much the only place I’ve gone since Andy died- my therapist’s office. After Andy died, I was a mess. I wouldn’t leave my room, and when I did, everything I saw reminded me of him. When I went back to school, I cried all day when I saw the memorial they’d put up for him. I haven’t gone back since.

That day, after mom picked me up, once I’d cried myself dry, I pulled out the leather journal Andy had given me for my 15th birthday. I stared at the page for a while before writing “Dear Andy,” at the top. Then, I wrote whatever was on my mind. My first letter was like this:

“Dear Andy,  
It’s been a week since you left and mom and I miss you like crazy. I went back to school today. There was a memoriam put up for you. I couldn’t make it through the day… I don’t think I’m ever going back. Everyone there is too full of pity. They miss you too. The dogs know that you’re gone, and you’re not coming back. They miss you. I don’t really know what to write next… So I guess I’ll stop writing now. Love, Spencer.”

I’ve filled up two notebooks and Andy’s leather journal with them. They help me remember him. 

Mom stops the car at Dr. Ashworth’s office. She looks over at me and says softly, “Are you going to be okay?” I nod and leave the car. I never go in with mom. She stays in the car unless Dr. Ashworth wants her to come with me. I push the door to the office open and step in. Lillja, the receptionist, smiles at me. I smile back and settle in the waiting room. Not five minutes later, Dr. Ashworth calls me in. 

“Spencer, how are you doing?” He asks, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen. He’s not really like a traditional therapist. Most take notes, but he doesn’t. Says it’s a waste of trees. He only brings out the paper and pen to look professional. Only I know that. “It’s our secret,” he told me when I discovered that he didn’t take notes.   
“I’m okay,” I reply, choosing my words carefully. After Andy died, I fell into a really deep depression. It was really hard to get out of, and Dr. Ashworth knows that my biggest fear is falling back into my depression. 

“That’s good.” Dr. Ashworth nods, smiling like he always does. Dr. Ashworth is one of those people you can trust immediately. He’s got an easy smile, kind eyes, and he’s really wise. He really understands me. Dr. Ashworth is a younger guy, but he’s honestly more understanding than any other therapist I’ve talked to, and trust me, I’ve talked to a lot of them.

I nod. “Mom told me I look like Andy. I made her cry…” I admit, looking down. I don’t know why, but I feel really insecure about anything related to mom. And I can already tell that today isn’t a good day. Mom said she was going to do some shopping. Any other day, that would be fine, but today’s not good. I left my Andy notebook at home, and I don’t feel right without it.

“Did you mean to?” I shake my head so hard I feel a headache coming on. He nods, as if he’s contemplating something. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. She’s probably just missing him.” He looks at me sympathetically. That makes sense. She’s not upset with me, she just misses Andy.

After my time with Dr. Ashworth is up, I go back out to the car. Mom looks up and sees me. She closes her book and starts up the car. Instead of going to the grocery store like I thought she would, mom heads straight home. In a way, it’s a relief. I can go home and write to Andy. As soon as the car stops, I’m in the house, hunting for the notebook I’m currently writing in. I find it under my bed and find a pencil. I start writing, pour all of my emotions into the letter.

“Dear Andy, mom told me I look like you today. I don’t know how to take that. She got really sad.. I miss you. Why did you have to leave us? We need you.”

I stop writing. I don’t have the energy to be angry today. Instead of writing, I think of all of my good memories with Andy.


	2. Memories: After the Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spencer reflects on andy and his legacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah, 13 year old me wrote some alright stuff. pardon the switching pov, i've always been bad at pov consistency.  
> also i think this is pretty short so far, rip.

When I was five, Andy was ten. He already had some ideas on how the world worked. He would come home from school and teach me what he had learned. It’d always been that way. When Andy learned something, he taught it to me. He taught me how walk, and he taught me how to ride my bike without training wheels. In some ways, Andy was the father figure in my life.

My dad divorced mom when I was three. Andy was eight. I don’t remember anything about him, and I don’t blame him from leaving. Andy knew what was happening. He hated our father with a burning passion. I guess the only reason I didn’t feel the same way Andy did was because I was too young to really know my dad.

“Spencer. Wake up.” I open my eyes. Mom is staring down at me. I’m laying on the floor, holding my Andy notebook to my chest. Rubbing my eyes, I sit up.

“I guess I fell asleep..” I stand and set the notebook on my bedside table. Mom looks at it like she wants to pick it up and read it. But she won’t. When I first started writing, I told her that she wasn’t allowed to read the notes. Dr. Ashworth is the only one besides me who reads the notes. Most of the people I’m acquainted with don’t even know that I write. 

Mom stands in front of me, looking at me for a long time. After what seems like an infinity of silence, she speaks.

“We need to visit Andy’s grave.” I nod. I knew she would say that. We visit every month or so, and we haven’t gone in a while. I pull one of my other Andy notebooks out and flip through the pages, looking for a good note. I finally find one and pull it out. When mom and I go to Andy’s grave, I bring one or two notes to leave. Mom brings flowers, which is okay, I guess. I just think Andy’s not the type of person who’d like flowers. I bring him piece of me, my feelings. I think he’d like that better.

Mom is silent on the way to the cemetery, which is fine by me. I don’t feel like talking. Instead, I think back to the first time we visited him. 

Mom had to drag me out of the house and into the car. I mumbled profanities at her the entire way. She didn’t mind, she knew it would be hard for me to see his grave. When we got to the cemetery, she had to drag me out of the car. I was literally kicking and screaming. She took me to the grave, and seeing “Andy Hill,” written in fancy script, with his birth and death dates underneath, drove me crazy. I started crying right then and there, and I didn’t stop for three or four hours afterwards. It’s gotten easier each time I see his grave.

This time, I’m calm. I know how to do this. When we arrive, I get out of the car and go over to Andy’s grave. I fold up the note and slip it under the vase of flowers that mom sets down. Mom cries, I know she does. She always does. Eventually, she goes back to the car. leaving me alone with Andy. When mom leaves, I talk. I tell Andy about everything. I tell him about mom saying I look like him, Dr. Ashworth’s latest advice, everything. Anything. It’s easy to talk to Andy, I guess because he won’t reply or judge me.

After a while, I run out of things to say. I get up and say goodbye to Andy before leaving the cemetery. I open the passenger door and get into the car. Mom starts the engine and drives home.

Honestly, it’s exhausting, visiting Andy. I don’t mean, “oh, I visited my dead brother, I need a nap.” I mean that the visits are mentally exhausting. Like I don’t have the energy to have emotions. Visiting him drains me, but I do it anyways. I have to. If I didn’t visit Andy, I would lose myself. God knows I’ve done enough of that.


	3. Hey, Andy.: Before the Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy and Spencer interact; happens before the accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man, this is the last of what i wrote long ago. i'll have to start writing it again.

Ten months earlier- before the accident

“Spence, get up! You’re gonna be late!” Andy ripped the blankets off of my bed and picked me up, holding me upside down until I protested. He set me down and ruffled my hair. I scowled at him and went to my closet, hunting for a t-shirt and a pair of jeans that weren’t dirty. I finally located the articles of clothing and put them on. I grabbed a pair of socks and the first pair of shoes I saw. 

“Where’s my backpack?” I ran down the stairs, tripping over the fat, fluffy cat that was sprawled out in my path. 

“Move, Fatso!” I jumped over the cat, who was not-so-affectionately known as, you guessed it, Fatso. He mewled pathetically and tried to roll over. What a fatty.   
I didn’t take the time to think deeply about our poor, obese cat. Mom was already in the car, which was running. So much for breakfast. I located my backpack and ran out to the car. Andy followed me. He ruffled up my already messy hair.

“Have fun at school, nerd.” I rolled my eyes and elbowed him.

“Have fun at college, jock.” I hopped into the car and shut the door. Mom waved to Andy backed out of the driveway.

Andy’s the type of guy that everybody likes- he’s just a likeable guy. He’s blond, tall, and always has a smile on his face. He’s nice to everyone, and he’s very popular with the girls. I know, right? Who would’ve thought he was popular? Long story short, Andy likes everybody and everybody likes Andy. On the other hand, I, Spencer James Sullivan, do not like everybody, and everybody most certainly does not like me. It’s not my fault that Andy left such big, jock-y shoes to fill. I don’t even try things, because I know that people will expect me to be as good as or better than Andy. I’d rather stay home with my video games and the guitar Andy gave me for my birthday two years ago. 

The ride to school is always boring. Mom’s not a morning person, and neither am I. We don’t even try to talk to each other. Bad things happen when we talk, and the morning only amplifies the bad things. I get out of the car as soon as mom pulls up at the school. No “goodbye,” no “have a good day.”


End file.
